Body Slammed! Read online

  Body Slammed! is made possible through a grant from the City of Houston through the Houston Arts Alliance.

  Piñata Books are full of surprises!

  Arte Público Press

  University of Houston

  4902 Gulf Fwy, Bldg 19, Rm 100

  Houston, Texas 77204-2004

  Cover design by Mora Des!gn

  Photo by Jack Davidson

  Villareal, Ray

  Body Slammed! / by Ray Villareal

  p. cm.

  Sequel to: My Father, the Angel of Death.

  Summary: Feeling not as big, tough or athletic as his father, a professional wrestler, high-schooler Jesse becomes friends with a brash young wrestler who offers to help Jesse bulk up.

  ISBN 978-1-55885-749-0 (alk. paper)

  [1. Wrestling—Fiction. 2. Fathers and sons—Fiction. 3. Choice—Fiction. 4. High schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. Mexican Americans—Fiction. 7. San Antonio (Tex.)—Fiction.]  I. Title.

  PZ7.V718Bo 2012

  [Fic]—dc23

  2012003181

  CIP

  The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1984.

  © 2012 by Ray Villareal

  Printed in the United States of America

  May 2011–June 2011

  United Graphics, Inc., Mattoon, IL

  12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For my son, Mateo, whose ideas and encouragement helped me write this story

  The poem, “Tragedia de Julia Hernández,” was written by my father, the late Fermin Villareal, and is based on true events.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Erastus “Deaf” Smith High School hadn’t had a winning football team in thirty-six years. It usually finished its seasons with a zero and ten, a one and nine, or in the best cases, a three and seven record. Even with numerous coaching changes, the school had remained at the bottom of the list in their district.

  Until this year.

  Duane Blaylock, a former defensive tackle with the Cleveland Browns, had been brought in as the new head coach. Under his leadership, the Deaf Smith Sidewinders, with a record of four and three, had already won more games in two months than they had in their previous five years. Not only did the Sidewinders expect to finish this season with a winning record, there was even talk in the locker room of a possible district championship.

  If the Sidewinders were to win district, Jesse Baron knew it wouldn’t happen because of him. Although he was listed on the roster as a center, Coach Blaylock seldom put him in the games. Instead, Jesse spent most Friday nights on the sidelines, watching his teammates play.

  He could accept that he was the second-string center, and that Sam Morales was a better player, but Jesse couldn’t see anything wrong with being allowed to play every once in a while. How else was he going to improve as a center unless he got out on the field?

  “You just don’t have the size or strength, Baron,” Coach Blaylock had told him bluntly. “If you were built more like your father, I’d have no problem putting you in. Dang, son, I’d build the whole Sidewinders team around you.”

  That was a cheap shot. There was no way Jesse could physically measure up to his father, and Coach Blaylock knew it.

  Joining the team had been Jesse’s father’s idea. He had played football in high school and in college and had even been drafted by the Dallas Cowboys, although, due to injuries, he never played for them. He thought Jesse would enjoy playing football, too. And he might have, if he had something more to do than use his rear end to keep the bench warm.

  On the third Friday night in October, late in the fourth quarter, the Deaf Smith Sidewinders were headed toward their fifth win, leading the Houston Ravens, 41 to 10. The drumline pumped up the crowd with a rousing cadence. The crowd, in turn, jangled tambourines to simulate the sounds of rattlesnakes as the cheerleaders danced along.

  Jesse wanted desperately to get in the game.

  After the Ravens kicked a wobbly, thirty-four yard punt, and the Sidewinders took over on offense, he pleaded with Coach Blaylock for the millionth time. “What do you say, Coach? Can I play? Please?”

  Coach Blaylock glanced up at the scoreboard, then at the play clock. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “Thanks, Coach.” Jesse slipped on his helmet and gestured an “okay” sign to his grandparents, who were sitting in the stands. He wished his father was up there with them, but his job didn’t allow him a lot of free time.

  Jesse ran out on the field and switched places with Sam Morales.

  Riley King, the quarterback, called the play, and the Sidewinders broke huddle. Jesse squatted on the line of scrimmage with the ball between his feet and waited anxiously for Riley’s snap count. Because he’d had little practice time, and even less playing time, he became confused with Riley’s signals. At the first “hut,” he tried to hand him the ball. Riley jumped back but didn’t take it. The referee blew his whistle, threw a yellow flag and penalized the Sidewinders five yards for a false start.

  “I said on three, Baron!” Riley spat out.

  Back in the huddle, Riley called the next play. “This time on two.” He turned to Jesse and sarcastically added, “Think you can remember that, Baron?”

  Jesse didn’t answer him, the jerk.

  They returned to the line of scrimmage, this time in shotgun formation. At the second “hut,” Jesse hiked the ball to Riley. But somehow, the ball slipped out of his hands, and he sent it sailing high above Riley’s head. In a panic, Riley scrambled after the ball and managed to scoop it up, but he was sacked for a fourteen-yard loss.

  The drumline stopped playing. The tambourines stopped rattling, and a smattering of boos could be heard from the Sidewinders’ side of the field. Riley jumped to his feet and said something Jesse couldn’t make out, but he was sure it wasn’t anything he’d want to repeat in church. Coach Blaylock stomped his foot and exploded with a few colorful words of his own. Then he formed a T with his hands to call a time out.

  Riley hurried up to him. “It wasn’t my fault, Coach. Baron bungled the snap.”

  Jesse tried hiding behind Wendell Cooley, a linebacker, who was standing on the sidelines, to avoid Coach’s icy stare. It didn’t work. Coach Blaylock reached around Wendell, grabbed Jesse by his face mask and thumped him several times on the helmet with his whistle, causing Jesse’s ears to ring.

  “What’s your problem, Baron? My three-year-old daughter can snap a ball better than that!”

  Jesse turned his eyes away. “Sorry, Coach. The ball just got away from me.”

  “Well, sorry don’t win games, Baron. Good plays do!” Coach Blaylock let go of Jesse’s face mask when he realized that the people in the stands were watching him.

  It was now second and twenty-nine. Back on the line of scrimmage, Jesse snapped the ball to Riley without messing it up. Immediately, a lineman the size of a rhino charged forward and knocked Jesse over like a bowling pin. Riley pitched the ball to Goose Guzmán, who picked up eight yards. On the next play, the Sidewinders gained five more yards, but they were still far short of a first down. Bucky Henderson kicked a forty-four yard punt, and the Ravens took over on offense.

  After a quick three and out, the Sidewinders got the ball again. This time, Coach Blaylock put Sam Morales back in the game, leaving Jesse stranded where he had spent most of the evening—the bench.

  Minutes later the horn sounded, signaling the end of the game. The tambourines rattled once again, and the fans clapped and cheered. The Sidewinders players whooped ecstatically over their win. Jesse should have been as excited as they were, but after h
is performance, or lack of it, he couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm.

  As he made his way to the locker room, his grandparents stood and clapped for him. Jesse returned a dispirited wave. He was glad his father wasn’t up there to witness his fiasco. But then, he hadn’t attended any of Jesse’s games, this year or last, when Jesse played on the JV team.

  Behind Jesse’s grandparents, Sara Young blew a kiss in his direction. Jesse wished it was for him, but unfortunately, she was aiming at Riley King.

  Jesse met Sara in middle school when he stopped some thugs from mugging her. It wasn’t anything dramatic. He merely stalled those guys until a teacher showed up. One of the thugs, a kid named Chester Leonard, was a student at Jesse’s school, but he didn’t act so tough, now that he didn’t have those other Neanderthals to hang out with. After that, Sara and Jesse became close friends, but for whatever reason, things didn’t work out between them. At the start of the school year, she hooked up with Riley King, and from what Jesse could tell, they had become much more than close friends. Apparently, Sara had a preference for smug, arrogant jerks.

  The locker room was hot and humid; it reeked of mildew, body odor and cheap cologne.

  Coach Blaylock joined the players in the locker room to congratulate them on their win. “We did good out there, men. But we need to continue to give a hundred and ten percent each time we go out on the field. You hear what I’m saying?”

  Jesse didn’t know how good Coach’s math was, but if a hundred percent is the maximum, how could anyone give more than the maximum—ten percent more?

  “We’ve gotta raise our game. We’ve gotta hunker down. If we’re gonna be a playoff team, we’ve all gotta take our game to the next level,” Coach Blaylock went on, dishing out his usual clichés. Of course, his speech wouldn’t be complete without his all-time favorite line: “Remember, men, there’s no ‘I’ in TEAM.” That was the one he used when Jesse complained about not being given more playing time.

  After the meeting, Jesse stripped off his uniform and was about to step into the showers when the smack of a wet towel stung his butt.

  “Nice going out there, slick,” Riley said, twirling the towel in his hand. Mitch Maloof stood next to him. “Who did you think you were playing for out there, the Sidewinders or the Ravens?”

  “We won, didn’t we?” Jesse said, wishing he had a stronger comeback.

  Riley sneered at him. “Yeah, and we’ll continue to win, as long as we keep you and the ball as far apart as possible.”

  “Why are you taking a shower anyway, Baron?” Mitch asked. “The showers are for players who actually worked up a sweat.”

  “Careful, Mitch,” Riley said, pretending to hold him back. “Baron might tell his old man to come beat us up.”

  “Nah. His old man only knows how to fake fight. He wouldn’t know what to do if he had to throw real punches.”

  The two of them walked off, laughing.

  Jesse would have loved to ram his fists down their throats, but that wasn’t going to happen. First of all, they were both bigger than he was. Second, he wasn’t going get himself suspended over those morons. And third, Jesse hated to admit it, but he probably deserved what he got. He was a lousy football player, and everyone knew it. He couldn’t wait for the season to be over so he could put this crummy year behind him. He had no intention of signing up to play again, not that anyone would care.

  While he got dressed he studied his reflection in the mirror. Coach Blaylock was probably right. He wasn’t strong enough to be the starting center. Nor did he have the size or quickness to play any other position. Jesse stood five-ten and weighed two hundred twelve pounds, so he wasn’t exactly a shrimp. Still, he thought he looked puny next to some of the gorillas he played against.

  But for Coach Blaylock to compare him to his father? That wasn’t fair. How could he possibly be anything like the six-foot, seven-inch, three hundred-twenty pound, skeleton-face monster from the lower regions of the Netherworld . . . his father, the Angel of Death?

  CHAPTER TWO

  For years, Jesse’s father worked as a professional wrestler called the Angel of Death. He entered the ring dressed in a black, sleeveless shirt, black tights and black boots. He wore a black, hooded cloak and he carried a scythe. His long, black hair hung past his shoulders, and he painted his face like a skeleton. In short, his in-ring persona was that of the Death Figure or the Grim Reaper.

  Like most top wrestlers on American Championship Wrestling, the Angel of Death was on the road, sometimes over three hundred days out of the year. Jesse missed spending time with his father and wished he could be home more often.

  Then one night, during a match against Prince Romulus, the Angel of Death suffered a tragic accident when he leaped off the top turnbuckle, and his foot slipped on the vinyl covering. He severely fractured his ankle, and his injury almost ended his career.

  Strangely, the accident appeared to be the answer to Jesse’s wish. His father was home all the time after that. What Jesse didn’t realize was that his wish would also lead to his parents’ divorce.

  He hadn’t eaten supper, so he was starving by the time he got back to school after the game. On the bus, Wendell Cooley, Bucky Henderson and Goose Guzmán talked about eating at Chili’s, which was fine with him. As hungry as Jesse was, he would have been happy if the guys had suggested picking up hot dogs at the truck stop.

  None of them had a car, so they walked the three-and-a-half blocks to Chili’s. Jesse’s grandmother had been teaching him how to drive, but all he had was a learner’s permit. The permit allowed him to drive, only if a licensed driver, twenty-one years or older, was in the front seat with him.

  His father had promised to buy him a car once he got his license, but Jesse wasn’t counting on it. His father had a habit of making promises he couldn’t or wouldn’t keep.

  For example, after he broke his ankle, Jesse’s father promised to give up wrestling. Throughout his career, he had suffered countless injuries—broken bones, concussions, tears to his knees—and he said he’d had enough. He said he would never step inside a wrestling ring again.

  But instead of sitting in the stands, watching the Sidewinders defeat the Ravens, Jesse’s father was in Phoenix, Arizona, wrestling Luke Mauldin at a house show, an untelevised event.

  He also promised Jesse that, despite all the arguments he and his wife had been having, they would never get divorced. He assured Jesse that he loved his family more than anything in the world and that he wasn’t going to lose what he had. Soon after that, Jesse’s parents separated; their divorce was finalized early this year.

  Jesse’s parents sold their house, and his mother moved to Dallas, where she got a job teaching high school English. Jesse and his father remained in San Antonio and went to live with Jesse’s grandparents.

  Jesse knew his mother felt betrayed when he chose to stay with his father instead of going to live with her. But all his life, because of his father’s career, Jesse had moved constantly, from city to city, from school to school, and he was never able to establish roots anywhere. After finally settling down in San Antonio, Jesse didn’t want to move again. His grandparents, his friends and his school were there.

  He apologized to his mother for his decision. He also promised to stay in contact with her, and unlike his father, he kept his promises. Jesse and his mother talked on the phone often. They also texted and emailed each other regularly.

  After Jesse and his friends were seated at Chili’s, a waitress came to take their order. While she wasn’t looking, Goose purposely dropped a packet of sugar on the floor. He picked it up and handed it to her.

  “Excuse me,” Goose said, smiling. “You dropped your name tag . . . Sugar.”

  The waitress rolled her eyes and shook her head. She tossed the packet on the table and walked off without saying anything.

  Bucky tee-heed like a little girl. “That’s a good one, Goose. You dropped your name tag . . . Sugar.” He tee-heed again.

  Mo
st guys’ voices have deepened by the time they reach Jesse’s age, but Bucky’s voice seemed to get higher the older he got.

  “You’d better watch what you say to that waitress, Goose,” Wendell warned. “I’ve heard that if you make servers mad, they’ll spit on your food before they serve it to you.”

  Goose tore the sugar packet open and poured its contents down his throat. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Wendy. Chicks like it when you flirt with them.”

  “I was just getting ready to say that, Goose,” Bucky said in his high voice. “Chicks like it when you flirt with them.”

  Goose wadded the sugar packet and tossed it at him. “How would you know, Bucky? You don’t even like girls.”

  Bucky scowled. “I do, too. You know Melissa Dugan? That new girl in my geometry class? I’m thinking about asking her out.”

  Goose winked and said, “Yeah, I know who you’re talking about. She’s that real big girl the guys call Shrek.”

  “They don’t call her . . . ” Bucky stopped and kicked Jesse under the table. “Hey, look who just walked in.”

  Sara Young and Riley King stood at the entrance. Sara held a long-stemmed rose in her hand that Riley had bought from a vendor who was selling them outside the restaurant. Sara’s light-brown hair fell down the shoulders of her green sweater. Her eyes matched the color of her sweater. Riley whispered something in Sara’s ear that made her giggle, bringing out the dimples on her cheeks.

  Goose turned to Jesse and asked, “Man, how did you ever manage to lose a chick as hot as Sara Young?”

  “I was just getting ready to say that, Goose,” Bucky said. “How did you ever manage to lose a chick as hot as Sara Young?”

  That was a question Jesse had asked himself a million times.

  He used to live down the street from Sara, and they dated for a while. Sara’s parents weren’t wrestling fans, but when American Championship Wrestling came to San Antonio, Jesse’s father invited Sara and her family to attend the show at the Alamodome. He was still recuperating from his ankle injury, so he didn’t wrestle that night. But he took everyone backstage to meet the wrestlers—the “boys,” as he called them. Sara’s mouth hung open in awe at the enormous sizes of men like Jumbo Jefferson and Butcher Murdock. She loved the colorful costumes and masks of the Blue Dragon and El Azteca Dorado.